


Coffeetime

by Lacanthrope



Category: Starfighter (Comic)
Genre: Angst, Feels, Gloom and Doom, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-30
Updated: 2013-01-30
Packaged: 2017-11-27 12:58:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 547
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/662260
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lacanthrope/pseuds/Lacanthrope
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>You're up early...hello?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Coffeetime

I only closed my eyes for a moment. Couldn’t have been any longer than that.  But when I reopened them, the evening wasn’t there anymore, only moonlight and shadows. A draft carried through the room and but everything was silent. I didn’t even know why I woke up.

Then I smelt the coffee.

I rolled over to the empty side of the bed. It was cold already; he must of gotten up a while ago. Might not of even come to bed to begin with. Wouldn’t be the first time I caught him passed out in his office and had to carry him to bed. Like he’d rather sleep next to numbers than me.

I dug the heels of the palms into my eyelids; the tight fabric of my dress shirt tugged against my shoulders and pulled myself out of bed. Wasn’t worth letting him sleep in there anyways, the bed was always too cold without him. Even if his feet were always blocks of ice.

I stumbled across the room, tripping over shoes, socks, and a couple of empty bottles. Probably get nagged about those tomorrow so I picked up the bottles, my ring clinking against the glass. He’d clean the rest up if I left it long enough.

I made my way down the hallway, the carpet just as warm as his hands always were. The couple of pictures he’d banged up on the wall stared out at me from the walls. Needless fucking holes in the wall I’d told him. Didn’t tell him I liked the one on the end, the one his mom took of us dancing at one of the stupid vet dinners.

The coffee smelt stronger the closer I got to the kitchen. It was probably a fresh pot; maybe he hadn’t fallen asleep yet. I smiled, the air cold on my teeth. Maybe awake enough for a quick fuck.

My feet hit the linoleum of the kitchen and it was just as cold as his feet. I got all the way to the coffee machine before I realized there wasn’t any coffee. Never had been.

Nobody had been in the kitchen.

Just the couple of dishes people had brought around earlier and his photo still smiling at me from between the two masses of flowers on the table. The one I’d taken when we went to visit my sister, smiling like an idiot even though he could hardly breathe through the smog.

There wasn’t going to be anymore late-night coffee.

I ran my hands through my hair, my ring catching a couple of strands. Wasn’t enough to distract me from the darkness in the kitchen or the fucking stench of the flowers.

I slid down the cabinets and onto the floor and sat staring at his framed face from the ground.

They said I was being an idiot when I refused to call the thing on the metal table by his name. Everything matched up on their end. But they didn’t know there was no way he could ever look so cold, except for maybe his fucking feet. It wasn’t him.

I laid my head back on the cabinet and watched the outside shadows crawl across the cracks in the ceiling as I twisted the metal ring around my finger.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Jumped the FF.net ship and here I am. However, I'll still be updating Pretty Lights from there. When I stop writing crap like this.  
> Inspired by comic 116 of A Softer World.  
> Edit: I reworked this for a flash fiction contest, so if you see it somewhere, don't freak out.


End file.
